
1066 




THE TRIPLE WEDDING; 



OK, 



THE FORGIIS^G OF THE KIKG. 



V r?^ - 



A PLAT, DESIGNED FOB A SMALL COMPANY, 

BY 
/ 

CHARIiES ^ARl^ABD. 



Address : 
Care of " Tlie Century," 33 East 17th St. N. Y. 



PS 1066 
.B3 T7 
1883 
Copy 1 



JUN 19 188; 




PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION ONLY 



.BaT? 



Copyriglit, 1883, IDy Charles Barnari>. 
All rights reserved. 



Theo, L. De ViNNB & Co. New Yobk, 




THE TRIPLE WEDDING; 

OR, 

THE FORGING OF THE RING. 
a play, designed for a small company. 

By Charles Barnard. 



CHARACTERS. 
Clara Sturgis— leading lady. 
Slome; } -^e^' y^'^^'Ser sisters. 
Monday Greenfield — a self-made man. 
Theopulus Vesuvius Fogge — a lawyer from Australia. 
Frederick Daudle — an unfledged author. 
Ceifton Muddle— a would-be lawyer. 
Servant. 



SCENE. 
The United States at the present time. 



ACT I 

THE TKUST. 

Scene. A plainly furnislied lodging-room in a city tene- 
ment. Old talble and three cane-cliairs. Some coarse sew- 
ing materials and lamp on table. Entrances first right and 
left, and at hack. 

TisiE. Night in winter. 

\_Cu7'tain discovers Salome and Cecely Btvrqi^ seated 
Jjy table sewing. Both plai^ily dressed.^ 

Salome (wearily). Oh, I'm so tired. I hate pov- 
erty. I 'd give anything or do anything to be rich. 

Cecely. It is not much we can give. Nobody- 
cares to marry a poor girl. 

Salome (shivers as if cold). Get my shawl, deary. 
It's dreadfully cold here. 

Cecely. You forget, sister; we ate the shawl for 
breakfast. Clara sold it yesterday, and the money 
paid for our milk and oatmeal. It was a rather thin 
diet, in spite of its origin. I called the oatmeal the 
shawl, and the milk the trimmings. It was a pity you 
had a square shawl, for the meal did n't go round. 

Salome. What do you mean ? 

Cecely. Why, sister Clara had no breakfast. 

Salome. No breakfast — nothing to eat ? 

Cecely. Not a thing. She pretended she was n't 
hungry. She starved herself to help us. 

Salome. Do you think Mr. Greenfield intends to 
marry Clara? 

Cecely (rises). I 'd die before I would marry a man 
called Monday — or take in plain sewing, which is only 
dying to slow music. (Earnestly. Takes stage.) Oh! 
Everything is put together with a lock-stitch. I can't 
unravel our seam. I can only sigh (sings). Sigh for 
a man — sigh for a man 

Salome. My love ! 

Cecely (singing). Sigh for a man — sigh for a man- 
sion and a carriage. 



\_Enter Clara at 'back. Appears pale and 
weary. Very poorly dressed. 

Salome (rising, tliroicing doivn her toorJc, and Mssmg 
Clara). Oh, you precious sister — you little mother ! 
To think you had no breakfast. 

Clara. That was a small affair, deary. (Takes up 
work.) Not done yet ? 

Cecely. There are thirty-two more button-holes to 
be made yet, and it's nearly eight o'clock. 

Clara (dropping the ivork wearily). What does it 
matter ? Four cents for a dozen button-holes. (Bit- 
terly.) A dozen or two more or less will not help us 
much ? Dearies ! The end has come. This is the 
worst pass we have come to since father and mother 
died. I paid all I could on account of the rent to-day, 
and this is our last night here. I have sold every- 
thing. No. There is your mother's portrait in the 
next room. I shall sell that to-morrow, and then 
(pause). 

Salome. I do wish our case could be laid before a 
jury. 

Cecely (to Salome). Too much law has made you 
mad, Salome. Better think less of Mr. Muddle and 
more of our position. He does n't mean anything. 
He will never marry a poor girl. 

Salome (with spirit). You needn't edit me, Cecely 
Sturgis. I dare say your Mr. Daudle's intentions are 
like his books — not published yet. 

Clara. Oh, girls ! How can you ! Neither of the 
young men who call on you are able to marry, and I 
sometimes have grave doubts of their sincerity. 

Salome and Cecely (indignant). Oh ! Oh! 

lEnter slatternly servant at right. 

Servant (laying cards on table). Two men to see 
yez. \_Exit Servant B. 

Clara (reading cards). Mr. Dandle and Mr. Green- 
field. (Bleased.) My dears, the natural man has a 



weakness for good clothes. I go to put on sucli gor- 
geous raiment as my poverty permits. lExit left. 

Salome (inspecting Jier dress — to Cecely). Do you 
think that darned place in my skirt will show ? 

C'EC'ETuY (horrified). Oh! Oh! 

Salome. Mercy ! What have I done ? 

Cecely (laughs). Nothing, you dear innocent. 
The natural depravity of the English language is too 
much for you — that 's all. llSxit bad'. 

Salome. The spiteful thing! She prides herself 
on her language just because her lover wants to be 
an author. I would like to see the thing laid before 
a jury. IJExit hade. 

lEnter Daudle and Greenfield at right. 

Daudle. Literature, sir, is one of the noblest of 
the professions. I mean to follow it as a business. 
It elevates the mind, clears the heart, and softens 
the head. 

Greenfield. How comes on your new book? 

Daudle. Well, you see, I have not yet decided on 
the style in which I shall write. There is the diffu- 
sive-didactic style, and the closely-connected-collo- 
quial style. Which do you prefer ? 

Greenfield. A man who means business makes 
his own style. 

Daudle. That 's just what Miss Cecely says. She 
said to me yesterday that, if she (meaning me) had 
anything to say, she would say it. 

Greenfield. Then I wonder she (I mean you) 
don't. It seems to me you are playing a rather sorry 
game here in calling on these girls when you cannot 
marry either of them. 

Daudle (offended). Indeed, sir, and may I inquire 
what are your intentions concerning these poor girls? 

Greenfield. I 'm glad you put it that way. They 
are poor and I 'm well off. I hope to marry one of 



them — if she will accept so poor and imfortunate a 
man as I. 

Daudle. Your style is paradoxical, at any rate. 

Greenfield. No doubt. I '11 make it clear. They 
call me Monday Greenfield. I have no other name. 
I was horn of a Drab, on a fi'osty Monday morning in 
the Greenfield Asylum. I got the name in derision. 
I never saw my father or mother. I have an old 
d-dgMeweotype (takes out 2}ictu re). There it is. (Shotvs 
it to Daudle.) That is supposed to be my father. 
The picture was found sewed into the bosom of my 
mother's dress. 

Daudle (looking at picture). It looks like Ceeely. 

Greenfield (takes picture and looks at it). I never 
noticed it before. There is a suggestion of her ex- 
pression. Quite accidental, of course. (Puts it 
mvay. Takes out letter.) There is part of an old 
letter, also found among my mother's effects. No 
name signed, but it appears to be written by the man 
who ruined my mother. (Puts it away.) I keep 
it safe. I 'm looking for that man. Now, I put it to 
you. Have I a right, with all my wealth, to seek any 
girl's hand ? 

Daudle. Yes ; you worked your way up from the 
orphan asylum. Any woman would be glad to marry 
the richest mill-owner in town. 

Greenfield. But not Monday Greenfield — the waif. 

lEnter Clara at left. Partly clianged dress.'] 

Clara (hows to Daudle, and takes Greenfield's 
hand). Good-evening, gentlemen. (To Greenfield.) 
I'm very glad you have come. (To Daudle.) Salome 
and Ceeely are in the next room, sewing, Mr. Daudle. 
Will you find your way to them ? 

Daudle (moves up). Thank you. I came to see 
Miss Ceeely. \_Exit hack. 

Clara (to Greenfield). Have you learned any- 
thing more about these young gentlemen ? 



8 

Greenfield. I hear they have no visible means 
of support, and depend wholly on their parents. 
They are not bad or vicious, but merely idle and 
selfish. 

Clara. I 'm glad it is no worse. However, it makes 
no difference. To-morrow we shall move, and they 
will not follow us. 

Greenfield. Why must you give up this comfort- 
able flat ? 

Clara. Because I cannot pay the rent. 

Greenfield (takes her ann). Now, Clara, this has 
gone far enough. It is time we understood each 
other. You know my history ? 

Clara. I know it well enough to respect you, sir. . 

Greenfield (earnestly). Eespect! Can you give 
me nothing more than respect, Clara ? 

\_Enter Servant altruptly, followed hy Fogge 
atB. 

Servant (to Fogge.) That's Miss Sturgis, mis- 
ter. It 's lucky you came to-night, for she has got to 
clear out to-morrow. lExit Servant. 

Fogge. Beg pardon! Any party named Sturgis 
live here ? 

Greenfield (presenting Clara.) This is Miss 
Sturgis, sir. Can we be of service ? 

Fogge (staring at Clara. Aside). Found at last. 
CTo Clara.) You have your Uncle's nose. Impor- 
tant point in the case. Your father's name was John ? 
Your mother was a Mann ? 

Clara. My mother's name was Anna Elizabeth 
Mann. Mann with two n's. 

Fogge (takes off things and sits). Just so. I'm glad 
of it. Excuse me if I take a chair. I 've traveled 
fifteen thousand miles, and broke my leg, and been 
shipwrecked on a desert island for six months, and 
all for the sake of seeing you. I call it deep devotion. 

Greenfield. It is, sir. We rather admire it, and 



9 

will be glad to tell you so wlien you inform us who 
you are. 

FOGGE (aside). Lovers ! They '11 be married within 
a week when they hear the news. (Direct.) That is 
important, I admit. I am Theopulus Vesuvius Fogge, 
Attorney-at-Law, Melbourne, Australia. I knew your 
uncle, Miss. Tough customer. We called him the 
American savage. Bless your soul ! good at heart — 
good as gold. Had it, too, in plenty. Made it in 
sheep. 

Clara. Are you from my uncle, Edward Mann, — 
my mother's only brother ? I hope he is well ? 

Fogge. Yes, Miss ; he is well — that is, he is better 
off than ever before. He 's dead. 

Clara (surprised). Dead. 

Fogge. Yes, Miss — quite comfortably dead. 

Greenfield. Excuse me, sir; but your manner of 
stating the fact is a trifle roagh. 

Fogge. Dare say. Dare say. My client was rough. 
Such fellows generally do the graceful thing by dy- 
ing. I did not love him ; but I agreed to do my duty. 
He instructed me, the day he died (he died in his 
boots), to come to America, and find you and give 
you his property — a little matter of fifty thousand 
pounds — and here I am. The money is in trust — 
for his son. 

Clara. His son, sir? I never knew Uncle was 
married, much less that I had a cousin. 

Fogge (rises). To make the story short, this money 
is in trust for the boy till the first of next June. If 
you fail to find him by noon of that day, the money is 
all yours. I 've been more than a year coming half 
round the world to find you. If you will call one of 
your servants to show me the way to the hotel, I '11 
get the proper dociiments. 

Greenfield. I '11 go with you to the hotel, sir. 

Clara (to Greenfield). Thank you, Monday. 
That was kind in vou. 
la 



10 

FoGGE. Monday ! What a queer name ! 

Clara (presenU Greenfield). Allow me to present 
my friend, Mr. Monday Greenfield. He will return 
with you ; and if there are any business matters to be 
arranged, he will represent me in them. (Green- 
field turns to speak to Clara.) 

FoGGE (aside). I knew they were lovers ! (To 
Greenfield.) I 'm ready, Mr. Sunday. (To Clara.) 
We shall return in a few moments. 

Clara. I shall be here with my sisters. 

FoGGE. Are there sisters? 

Greenfield. Miss Sturgis has two younger sisters. 

FoGGE. The American savage never mentioned 
them. I dare say they were born after he left home. 
Have 'em out. I 'd like to see how they stand the 
shocking news I bring. Fifty thousand pounds and 
a lost boy. [Exit Fogge and Greenfield right. 

Clara (solus). Thank Heaven ! It is not too late. 
Now that our poverty is at an end I feel its sting. 
Poor Uncle ! He led a sad, wild life, but he made 
amends at the end. He must have repented. If he 
has left a child, it shall be found. 

[Enter Salome at hacJc. 

Salome (comes down — Utterly). 1 hate it. I hate 
it. Oh, sister, why are we so poor? Mr. Dandle 
made fun of my darned skirt. 

Clara (kisses Mr). Bless you, deary; we are not 
so dreadfully poor. 

Salome. Anyway, you went without breakfast this 
morning. 

Clara. I never did like oatmeal. (Embraces her.) 
Oh, you little simpleton ! Can't you see how happy 
I am. Behave with dignity now, while I give you 
some dreadful news. Your poor — no, your rich Uncle 
in Australia is dead. 

Salome. Mother's brother, vfho ran away ? 



11 

Clara. Yes. He died more than a year ago, and 
a man has been here who says Uncle left lae a large 
estate in trust for his son — our coiisin. 

Salome. Is n't to be all yonr own ? 

Clara. I believe not. It is for the son ; but now 
that we have one lo^"ing relative, we can go to him, 
and he will helj) us find a place where we can earn a 
living. 

Salome (disappointed). Earn a li\dng! I don't 
want to earn a living. I want a nice house and a 
carriage, and all that. I think Uncle behaved shame- 
fully, and I do wish it could be laid before a jury. 

IJEntcr Servant at B. 

Servant. Mr. Muddle, to see the ladies. 

I Exit Servant. 
Clara (to Salome). Here 's your judge at any rate. 

\_Enter Mr. Muddle at right. 

Muddle (comes down). Good evening, ladies. (To 
Salome.) Glad to see you, Salome. 

Salome. Oh, Clifton, such jolly news. Uncle has 
died — I never knew him, you know — and left Clara 
a lot of money. 

Muddle (pleased). Indeed ! I congratulate you. 
Have you the legal documents here ? 

Clara (to Muddle). Salome is a trifle hasty, Mr. 
Muddle. The property is all in trust. 

Muddle (dejected). Ah, that 's bad — very bad. 
(Offers card to Clara.) Take my card. Miss Sturgis. 
You may need the advice of a legal friend. 

IJEuter Servant, ivho holds the door open F. 

Clara (to Muddle). Thank you, sir. I have al- 
ready secured an attorney. Here comes my Uncle's 
representative. 

lEnter Greenfield and Fogge. Exit Serv- 
ant «i right. 



12 

FoGQE (comes to table and takes out papers — others 
gather round, — speaks to Clara). This thing is very 
plain. There is your Uncle's will, in his own hand- 
writing. By this document, the sum of fifty thousand 
pounds is to be paid to you for his son. With this 
provision : if you do not find the boy by noon of the 
first day of June, you are to keep all the money. Of 
course, you are to use all due diligence in searching 
for the child. 

Clara. I will do my best, you may be sure. 

FoGGE. If the boy is found, he is to pay you for 
your trouble. Your Uncle died a year ago. He 
thought, I suppose, I should find you within two 
months, and that would give time for the search. 
But I slipped and fell, and was laid up three months 
with a broken leg. When I did start, the steamer lost 
her screw and drifted about in a dead calm till she 
ran ashore on a desert island. We spent six months 
on that island, living chiefly on oysters in all styles, 
till a ship picked us up and set me down in San Fran- 
cisco, and here I am with the trust nearly run out. 
I suppose we need no further proof that you are the 
right Clara Sturgis ? 

Clara. Oh, now I think of it, my mother and 
my Uncle were twins, and much alike. I have my 
mother's portrait in the next room. Suppose you 
look at it ! 

FoGGE (7'ises and leaves papers on table). G-ood 
idea ! Let 's see if she looks like the savage as I saw 
him on his ranch. 

Clara (moves up). Come this way. 

\^Exit Clara at hade, followed by FoGGE, 
Salome, and Greenfield. 

Muddle (I'mgering behind and slyly looking at papers 
on table). It 's the biggest thing out. (Tries to read 
papers). Can't make head or tail of it. (Lays paper 
down). I suppose it 's all straight. Eather fancy 
I 'm in for a good thing. 



13 

lEeenter Greenfield at hack with daguerre- 
otype in his hand, much excited in manner. 
Does not observe Muddle. 
MvDDhE (aside). CJtw<?mY7 Greenfield). Hallo! 
Wliat's up ? Mr. Monday been drinking? 

\_Exit slyly at hacJc. 
Greenfield. (Solus). I knew it in an instant. 
The two portraits are as near alike as a man and 
•woman can be. Ah, the letter! the letter! (Puts 
away picture and hastily pulls out letter and compares 
it with handwriting of will on tahle). It is the same. 
Every letter is alike. Edward Mann. Edward Mann. 
Not a bad name, after all. Ah I Then I 've found the 
scoundrel. I am the son — the property is mine. 
And Clara — my Clara — Cousin Clara. Poor old 
father. I can forgive him now. Cousin Clara — m.y 
Clara — my wife. Ah, here comes the young vam- 
pires. They smell the money already. {Moves to side). 

\_Entcr Muddle and Daudle at hacJc. 

Daudle. What shall you do now ? 

Muddle. Sail in, of course. 

Daudle. So shall I. Half a dollar to one cent 
that I '11 be engaged first. 

Muddle. Taken. (Sees Greenfield. Aside.) Look 
out ! That old cat is on hand. He '11 have the whole 
boodle, if we don't look sharp. 

Daudle. Oh, I see him ! Darn him ! 

IBeenter Clara, Fogge, Salome, and Cecely. 

FoGGE (comes down to tahle). There is nothing 
more to be done, but to sign the preliminary papers. 
Ah! Wait a bit. There is one matter on which I 
must seek legal advice. 

Muddle (confidently). Perhaps I can help you 
I am a lawyer. 

Fogge (looks at him suspiciously). Ah ! Glad to 
meet you, sir. It 's only a trifling affair, and I hardly 
like to trouble you. 



14 

Clara ( presents Muddle j. This is Mr. Muddle, a 
friend of the family. I dare say lie can help you. 

FoGGE. Ah, thaiike. (To Muddle J. Do legal pa- 
pers have to be stamped in this country ? 

Muddle. No ; I believe not. Yes. On the whole, I 
think they do. 

FoGGE. You don't know, sir. You 're no lawyer at all. 

Greenfield. No stamps will be required. 

FoGGE. Ah, thanke, (To Clara.) You solemnly 
promise to faithfully caiTy out the requirements of 
this testament, and to diligently search for the lost 
child? 

Clara. I do. ('To Greenfield.) You will help me, 
will you not ? With your aid, the boy can be found 
and restored to his own. 

Greenfield. (Hesitating.) It is just possible the 
boy does not care for his own. 

FoGGE (to Greenfield J. Don't be a fool, man. 
The poor little devil may be dying to find this pretty 
girl with a pot full of money. Of course, you will 
assist in hunting up the little wretch. 

Greenfield. It will be useless. The boy will never 
be found. 

[Curtain. End of Act I.] 



ACT II. 

THE SEARCH. 

Scene. A country boarding-liouse. Room opening at back 
on piazza with view of garden. Eoom neatly furnished. 
Table at center covered with papers. Doors open at hack. 
Entrances first, right, and left and hack. 

Time. First of June, in the morning. 

ICurtain discovers Clara at table looking over papers. 
Her hat on table near dy. Summer dress. ] 
Clara. Where can the wretched youngster be ? 

He's a most troublesome child. I cannot find him. 



15 

Inquii-ies, advertisements, detectives, everything in 
vain. (Takes up old letter.) Here is the only clew. 
She lived in this village at one time. The records of 
the village church tell me she was married here — 
and perhaps she died here. 

\_Enter Salome at hack in ivalking suit. 

Salome. Why do yon worry over those wretched 
papers ? Yon would drag us up to this poky place, 
and what have you found ? 

Clara. I have found that Uncle really married the 
boy's mother, and that is something. 

S^iOME. You have n't found the boy. Mr. Green- 
field was right. He said you would never find him ; 
and to-day is the first of June. 

Clara. It makes no difference. I shall not give up 
the search. While I live, I shall think of the money 
as his. 

Salome (comes nearer). Mr. Muddle is coming to- 
day, deary ; and he wants me to say when it shall be, 
and I Ve turned and turned my things until they are 
quite worn out. 

Clara. I cannot help you, sister. Mr. Greenfield 
and Mr. Fogge both said I might use some of the 
money for our support while we kept up the search. 
I can give you no more money. 

Salome (angry). You 're a little goose, Clara. Don't 
I tell you Mr. Muddle says the money will be legally 
yours to-day ? 

Clara. I shall never think of the money as mine 
till I find the boy or his grave. 

Salome (takes stage, angry). You're a — a hateful 
thing (begins to cry). Mr. Muddle will soon be here, 
and you know my hat is — is perfectly — perfectly 
disgraceful. You 're perfectly heartless and selfish 
— you know my blue serge is — I declare I 've no 
patience with your finiky notions about duty, and all 
that rubbish. 



16 

Clara. I dare say not, Salome. You see every- 
tlung now through legal glasses. I fear, my love, 
they are a trifle smoky. 

Salome (at door at left). Oh, you — you spiteful 
thing. Ah, I wish it only could be laid before a jury. 

lExit in a pet at left. 

Clara (sadly — sits, and taJces tip papers). Money is 
decidedly a bitter root. It has brought the first quar- 
rel between sisters. Oh, Salome, if the money was 
rightfully mine, you should share the last dollar. 
(Pauses.) Why did I not think of that before ? If 
she died here, she may be buried here (takes up hat, 
as if to go out). Perhaps the sleepers on the hill can 
tell. I will go and sit among them. If she sleeps 
there, she may hear me. She must have loved the 
boy. She must know where he is now. It's just pos- 
sible she will whisper something in silence to my 
heart (moves uj)). 

\_Enter Cecely at right. Summer suit. 

Cecely. Oh, Clara! Clara! wait a moment. Mr. 
Dandle will be here in a few minutes. I have just 
time to run over to the village store. I really ought 
to have a new sash. 

Clara. I have no money, deary. The expenses of 
the search have been so great that we really must 
economize. 

Cecely. Why, Mr. Dandle says all the money will 
be yours to-day. 

Clara. I shall not take it. I shall insist on Mr. 
Greenfield or Mr. Fogge as trustees of the property. 
I shall only take enough to live upon till I can find 
something to do. 

Cecely (angry). You're — a little fool, Clara. 

Clara. Sister! 

Cecely. I don't care. You're enough to try a saint, 
and I hate you. {^Exit right, slamming the door. 

Clara. Poor girls ! It is hard for them to be de- 



17 

nied everything. Now I will speak — in silence — ta 
the poor sleeper on the hill. lExit lack. 

IJEnter Daudle and Muddle at left in travel- 
ing suits. 

Daudle. I congratulate you, my boy. This is the 
last day, and I am glad of it — so is my tailor. The 
fact is, there is nothing quite so soothing to the finer 
instincts of my nature as a little ready money. 

Muddle. Yes, sir. The legal aspect of the world 
is greatly improved by a good financial backing. 
What do you think she will do for us ? 

Daudle. Oh, she 's a good girl and loves her sisters 
— and so do we. Should n't wonder if she divided 
the whole plum on the spot. 

Muddle. Thirds ! Give 'em thirds ! I never knew 
how dear my Salome had become to me. 

Daudle. Well, my Cecely is rather precious, you 
may bet your bottom dollar. She 's a noble girl — 
sweet-tempered, amiable, and — three into fifty thou- 
sand — one and carry two — sixteen thousand pounds. 

Muddle. A little matter of eighty thousand dol- 
lars more or less, if that rascally mill-owner does not 
put in his oar. 

Daudle. Never you fear him. His mother had no 
name. He does not dare to offer himself, with all his 
money. 

\_Enter Cecely at right. 

Cecely (to Daudle). Oh, Frederick! I'm so glad 
you have come. I 've such dreadful news. (To 
Muddle. ) Morning, Mr. Muddle ; Salome will be 
here soon. (To Daudle.) Just think, Clara refuses 
to touch the money. 

Muddle. She must. It is legally hers, and she 
must be forced to take it. 

Daudle, This will never do. Where is she ? We 
must appeal to the nobler instincts of her nature. 



18 

Slie lias a soft head and a clear heart. She will not 
turn a cold ear to oiir despairing cry 

Cecely. Oh, Freddy ! You have such a delightfully 
liquid style. You'll be sure to move her. Let us 
find her at once. 

Muddle. I fancy, if the legal aspects of the ease 
are laid before her, she will at once consent to divide. 

Cecely. Divide? Divide what? (To Daudle.) 
"What does he mean ? 

Daudle (to Cecely). Never mind, dearest. 
Where's your sister? (Aside to Muddle.) Don't 
be a fool and a lawyer, too. 

Cecely (moves tq)). She 's taken her hat. I dare 
say she 's in the garden. Lot 's go find her. 

Daudle (to Cecely). You mustn't mind what Clif- 
ton says. He has an acute legal mind, but he has no 
command of style. When we meet Clara, let me do 
the talking. 

lExit all at hack. 

lEnter Greenfield and Fogge in traveling 
suits at left. 

Greenfield. You understand my wishes in the 
matter ? 

Fogge. Perfectly, sir. The money is to be paid 
to the young lady according to the terms of your fa- 
ther's will just as if the boy had not been found. I 'm 
sure it is very creditable in you, sir. I wish the old 
savage could have lived to see his son. Your mother 
must have come of good stock, sir. 

Greenfield. We will not speak of her now. I 
fear she was more sinned against than sinning. 
(Looks off.) Ah! here comes Miss Sturgis, just in 
time. 

lEnter Clara at right. 

Clara (to Greenfield;. Oh, Mr. Greenfield. I 'm 
very glad you have come. I have important news 



19 

for you. (To Fogge). Good-morning, sir. Yon, too, 
will be interested in the matter. I have one more 
clew about the lost child. 

Fogge. Just the way! A woman always finds 
something to upset the best laid plans. Have you 
found the poor little devil ? 

Clara. No ; only his mother's grave. 

Greenfield (surprised). Her gTave ! My mother ! 
(Trying to recover himself.) Excuse me. I was think- 
ing of my own mother. 

Clara. You know I came up here because I learned 
from my father's papers that poor Uncle lived here at 
one time. 

Greenfield. I'm glad you came. I was born in 
this village. 

Clara. Then you know the little cemetery on the 
hill. I found an old gardener at work there. He 
remembered my aunt and pointed out her grave. 
There is a stone there half hid in the grass, and on it 
are her initials, but no date. 

Fogge. Then the American savage was not quite a 
brute after all. 

Clara. No, my Uncle was an honorable man. Lis- 
ten; I searched the register in the village church, 
and I found 

Greenfield (excited). ^Tiat did you find? 

Clara. The date of her marriage. (Greenfield 
sits by table overcome ivitli emotion.) (Clara con- 
cerned.) Oh, Mr. Greenfield, pardon me ; pardon me. 
It was unkind in me to trouble you with these sad 
things. Of course, you sympathize with the poor 
woman. I am glad for the boy's sake that the blot 
on his mother's name is cleared away. I feel now 
that I care more than ever for him. 

Fogge (to Clara). Never you mind him. Miss. 
It 's a fearfully hot day, and on the way up we had 
some — some lemonade — it always affects him. It 
flew to his head. He can't stand such things — the 
sugar was too strong. 



20 

Greenfield (rises with mi effort). It is nothing 
serious. I am perfectly well. I am very happy now — 
more happy than ever before in my life. Come ! 
Where are your pretty sisters ? Call them both. We 
need their smiles upon our business meeting. 

Clara (moves up). They may be in the garden. 
I '11 call them. \_Exit at back. 

Greenfield (to Fogge). You must pardon me, 
sir ; I never knew before that my mother was mar- 
ried. I never knew before where she slept. (Moves 
nj).) I must go and see the place. 

Fogge (going after him). No, stay here. The vult- 
ures are gathered to the feast. The callow lawyer 
and the unfledged author are coming. (Speaks off.) 
Welcome, my gentle lovers ! I fear you will find two 
can play at that game. 

Greenfield. How so ? 

Fogge (aside to Greenfield). What prevents you 
now from marrying Miss Clara ? Good, straightfor- 
ward girl. Said she cared for the boy, and you are 
the boy. 

lEnter Clara, followed hij Daudle and Cece- 
LY and Muddle and Salome. Clara 
to center. Daudle and Cecely to right. 
Muddle and Salome to left. Just here 
the village clock outside strikes twelve. 

Fogge. There she goes. Twelve o'clock — first day 
of June and my duty's done. I 'm glad you found 
your sisters, Miss Sturgis. We must have plenty of 
witnesses when the plot against your happiness is 
unfolded. 

Daudle (aside). What the devil does the fellow 
mean? 

Fogge (takes out papers). The time is up and we 
will proceed to business. According to the terms of 
your Uncle's will the money is now yours. (Daudle 
and Muddle secretly elated. Salome and Cecely 
openhj pleased.) 



21 

Clara. Oh, no, no ! I cannot take it ; it belongs to 
my cousin. I shall some day find him, and then what 
can I say if I have spent his property ? 

FoGGE. He would have no legal claim on you. I 
dare say the old savage guessed the boy would never 
be found. (Muddle nods approval.) If he is anything 
like his father, he has made a fortime of his own by 
this time. 

Clara (to Greenfield). What do you think ? 
Shall I ever find him ? 

Greenfield. It seems hopeless. I fear the boy 
will never be found. (Muddle and Daudle urge 
Salome and Cecely to go to Clara. ) 

Salome (crosses to Clara). Take it, deary. Why 
should you care for this unknown cousin ? 

Clara. But I do care for him. I have thought of 
him day and night, and wished I might find him. 
Poor, forlorn, little boy! I have begun to love him. 

(Greenfield drops his liandkerchief or cane with 
an exclamation, and Fogge coughs signifi- 
cantly.) 

Fogge (aside). Lucky dog ! (Cecely crosses to 
Clara, and urges her to take the money hy signs.) 

Greenfield". I think you may take the "property. 
If ever your cousin should want money, you can help 
him to the full extent of your generosity. 

Clara. Then I will accept. Must I sign any 
papers ? 

FoQQ-E (offering 2mper). Yes ; sign here. (Clara 
signs papers and then moves up and speals to her sis- 
ters. Daudle shakes hands with her and then crosses 
to left, near Muddle. Shakes hands ivith him. Fogge 
folds up papers.) 

\_Enter Servant at right. 

Servant (offers letter). Telegram for Mr. Green- 
field. (Gives it to Greenfield and then exit B.) 

Greenfield (reads tele Jf am). Oh! this is too bad — 
too bad. 



22 

Clara. What has happened, sir ? Have you lost 
anything ? 

GrREENFiELD. I was thinking of my work-people. 
There are over three hundred of them depending on 
my mill for a living. The mill was burned down last 
night. (To FoGGE, aside.) I suppose I must use a 
part of the money at once to help my workmen. 

FoGGE (surprised, aside to G.) Part of the money, 
sir? 

Greenfield (aside to F.). Why, yes. Part of my 
inheritance. I have n't a dollar now in the world. 
(Clara and sisters deeply concerned.) 

Daudle (elated. Aside to M.). The fellow is pretty 
badly winged. 

Muddle (aside to D.). I 'm devilish glad of it. 

FoGGE (to Greenfield). It is too late. She has 
signed the papers. She has your money. 

Curtain. End of Act II. 



ACT ni. 

the wedding. 

Scene. A wedding reception room. Time : Mglit. En- 
trances first right and left and at back. Piano, if convenient. 
Ricli furniture. Gas lamp on table. Gas bracket on wall 
that can be easily unscrewed. Coals in liod at fire-place. 

ICurtain discovers Cecely and Salome dressed as 
hrides. Song may he introduced here dy one of the 
ladies, if desired."] 

(After song.) Salome (talcing stage and admiring 
her dress). There is something perfectly delicious in 
a train. 

Cecely (admiring her dress). A little real satin 
goes a great way to make life endurable. Do you 



23 

think that ridiculous lawyer from Australia will 
come? 

Salome. I 'm more concerned about Clifton. IVe 
a haunting suspicion he wont come. I 'm sure if 
there is a time when a man is really wanted it is at 
his wedding. 

Cecely (studying her dress). I'm so glad the ma- 
terial will turn. It will make a good street dress a 
year from now, if poor Daudle's book should fail. 

Salome. Oh, I don't bother about money. Clara 
will take care of us. (Lool^s off, B.) Oh ! here come 
the grooms. (Enter Daudle and Muddle, dressed as 
grooms, at rig tit.) 

Daudle. The occasion is auspicious. I hear some 
of the guests are beginning to arrive. 1 feel I ought 
to write a poem on it. 

Cecely (taJces Ms arm). No, sir; none of your 
poems just now, if you please. You '11 be mooning 
round the house, tearing your hair for a rhjTue and 
nobody will be able to find you. Marriage is prose, 
and you had better attend to me and let styles go. 

Muddle (to Daudle). She 's got the law on you, 
my boy. Better keep quiet. 

Salome (to Muddle). No special pleading just 
now. The judge is in the next room and the jury are 
beginning to assemble. You are up for sentence. 

Daudle. Suppose we go and see the presents. 

Salome. Yes, do ; I 'm dying to see what Clara 
means to give. She said it would be only paper. 

Muddle (to Salome). It 's a check, my love. 
Nothing so soothing in the world as a good check. 

Salome. I '11 have to check you, sir. Poor, dear 
Clara will be left here all forlorn, and I do believe 
she will half beggar herself to help us. 

{Exit all left, laughing and merry. 
{Enter Fogge at B., in ill-fitting suit. 

FoGGE. I 'd rather face the American savage any 



24 

day. You know where to find Mm — but a woman 

(pulling at his coat). It 's the toughest affair I ever got 
into. The plaintiff — I mean the coat — is too small. 
No, sir; there is nothing small about the plaintiff. 
He is too liberal — and if — if the tailor could be 
quietly hung, it would be better for all concerned. 
If the defendant was not a woman. (Looks off, back.) 
Here she comes. Poor devil. He meant well — I 
mean the tailor. 

[_Enter Clara, in evening dress, at hach 

Clara (offering her hand). This is an unexpected 
pleasure, Mr. Fogge. I thought you intended to sail 
for home a week ago. I 'm glad to welcome you to 
our double wedding. 

'Foggy:, (fussing with his coat). Thanke, Miss. I'm 
happy to be here — that is as happy as a man can be 
with a painful — painful sense of the fitness of things. 

No, I mean the want of fitness. It is a painful 

(pulls at coat and it rips). There ! Now I'm serene. 
As serene as a man can be with bad — bad news. 

C'LAB. A. (alarmed). What has happened, sir ? Oh, 
you have news fi'om the boy ? 

Fogge. You Ve said it. Plaguey rough, miserable 
news. Oh, I wish he had never been born. Excuse 
me — I meant my tailor. The fact is, Miss Sturgis, 
I have found the boy. (Clara sits, overcome with 
alarm.) Bear up, my dear young lady. You must 
bear up. I assure you the boy is not like his father. 
He is more concerned about you than you need be 
about him. 

Clara. Tell me about him. Is he poor? Is he 
suffering for anything? Poor child. He need not 
fear me. 

Fogge. Oh, I don't think he does. 

Clara. I will send a carriage for him as soon as 
the wedding is over. Poor boy. I hope he has good 
warm clothes this cold weather. 



25 

FOGGE (aside). Poor little devil — in a dress-suit. 
(Direct.) I 've an idea. Why not send for him now ? 
He 's not far away, and I 'm sure he would be greatly 
pleased to see his cousins married. 

Clara (rises). Yes, do. Take a carriage at once, 
and bring him here. Bring him right to me. Oh, 
I 'm so glad we have found him. Is he a bright boy 
— a handsome, manly little fellow? I feel I could 
take him right into my arms and kiss him. 

FoGGE (aside). Just what the poor devil would 
like. (Direct.) I 'm sm^e, Miss, this does you the 
greatest credit. I'll go for the — the heir at once. 
We '11 soon be here. (Moves to R.) Keep the supper 
warm for us. 

Clara. Everything shall wait till you return. Stay 
a moment. You know why I took the money. Tell 
him I shall return it all. Tell him I have searched 
for him, and welcome him. Tell him — no, bring 
him to me. I '11 tell him all myself . 

FoGGE. That 's the best way. He is a noble, gener- 
ous fellow, and I really believe he loves you already^ 

Clara. Oh, I'm very glad. I shall love him dearly. 

FoGGE (aside). I 've done it this time. (Direct.) 
Ask the bridal parties to wait. It will do 'em good 
to meditate on the situation. [^Exit Fogge at right. 

Clara (solus). Poor girls. I hope they -will not be 
disappointed. (Takes out two checks.) I 'm very 
glad I did not give them the presents. The money 
rightfully belongs to the boy, and he shall have it. 
Sisters are all right. They have their husbands, and 
I can easily earn a living (puts checks in pocket). 

[Enter Daudle and Cecely and Muddle and 
Salome at hack, talking and laughing to- 
gether. 

Cecely (to Clara). Oh, Clara, the guests are ar- 
riving in crowds. I never knew we had so many 
friends in the world. 



26 

Si*>LOME. I 'm sure, when we lived in the Harlem 
flats not a soul ever came near ns. 

Clara. I fear, dearies, we shall have to delay mat- 
ters for a few moments. There is one guest who has 
not arrived, and we cannot go on without him. 

Cecely (to Clara). I 'm sure, sister, we need not 
wait for Mr. Greenfield. Frederick says he never 
goes out now that he has lost his money. 

Clara. I do not expect Mr. Greenfield, though he 
has been invited to come. He is too busy earning an 
honest living. The expected guest is your cousin. 

Salome (surprised). Oh, impossible ! 

Cecely (startled). Well, I never! 

Daudle (alarmed). Not the lost child ? 

Clara. The lost boy and heir of all the property. 

Muddle. I can't see how he can have the face to 
appear here. He has n't a shadow of claim on the 
money. The servants should be instructed 

Clara (interrupts Mm). The servants will welcome 
him, Mr. Muddle, whether he has a right to the money 
or not. He is my cousin, and I shall give him the 
money as soon as he asks for it. ('To Salome.) Sa- 
lome, come with me to the supper-room. Everything 
must wait. (To Cecely.) Cecely, you and Mr. Dau- 
dle may remain here till we return. 

lExit Clara, followed hy Salome and Muddle, 
both miserable, at bade. 

Daudle. Well, now. I — I — really, I don't see how 
we can go on. 

Cecely (sliarply). What ? 

Daudle. Now, Cecely Sturgis, you need n't take 
me up in that style. It 's not my fault that the mis- 
erable wretch of a boy has been found. 

Cecely. Why, who said it was ? He 's my cousin, 
and I dare say he 's a very good little boy. I dare 
say he knows better than to insinuate such dreadful 
things. 



27 

Daudle. I liardly know how to express myself 
■under these trying circumstances. 

Cecely (angry, and hegining to cry). For mercy's 
sake, Mr. Daudle, what are you talking about? It 
will soon be over, and you said only a few moments 
ago that you enjoyed being married. 

Daudle. Oh ! bother style. Can't you see, Cecely, 
if this wretched child has been found, he will claim 
all the money, and Clara, like a fool 

Cecely (very angry). Like a what, sir ? 

Daudle (meeldy). Like a good girl, will give it to 
him, and then wliat shall we do ? 

Cecely. Do ? Be married and go to housekeeping. 

Daudle. Housekeeping ! Oh, Lord ! I have n't a 
cent. I thought you — no — Clara — would do the 
handsome thing. 

Cecely. You mean you can't support me, and you 
want to back out ? 

Daudle (in despair). That's it, Cecely. 

Cecely. Well, sir, you can't back out. The min- 
ister is here, and we must go on — if it kills us. (In 
changed manner.) Have n't you a single dollar in 
your pocket ? 

Daudle. Oh, of course I 've got something. About 
two hundred dollars, to pay the minister and our 
wedding-trip. 

Cecely. Give the minister ten. I'll ask Clara to 
let us stay here to-night, — I never did approve of 
wedding-trips, — and to-morrow we'll take what you 
have left and hire a cheap flat up-town and get a few 
things. You can write for the papers and I keep 
house and do the marketing. 

Daudle (pleased). No, I '11 do the marketing. Of 
course, we'll put out the washing. 

Cecely. Yes, we '11 put out the washing and I '11 do 
the cooking and make the 

Daudle (embracing Jwr). Oh, Cecely, what a treas- 
ure you are ! How could I think of leaving you ? 



28 

Cecelt (pushing Mm off and hrusJiing dress). Don't 
crusli me. It 's a lovely material, and I shall take off 
tlie trimmings and use it for a street dress. It will 
turn beautifully, and I'll make it over for a house 
dress for next year. We can get a brass-mounted — 
oh, and I know where to get the kitchen things very 
cheap. 

Daudle (kisses lier). We shall be very happy, my 
love. 

Cecely. Oh, very — particularly if we get a brass- 
finished (Sees ^K-LOME, entering.) Oh 

\^Enter Salome, crying bitterly, at back. 

Salom'E (crying). Oh! Oh! 

Cecely. Mercy, Salome ! What is the matter ? 
Have you torn your dress ? 

Salome. Oh, Clifton says — says he — he can't — 
can't support — can't support me. Oh, dear ! 

Daudle. This is infamous. You must appeal to 
the law, and sue him for breach of promise. 

Salome. Oh, no ; I could n't — I woidd n't submit 
it to a jury for the world. 

\_I^nter Muddle, at back, disgusted. 

Cecely (to Daudle). My love, let us go see Clara 
about that matter. (To Salome.) Tell him you love 
him, you little goose. 

\_Exit Cecely and Daudle at right, 

Salome (sobbing, to Muddle). You're a — mean- 
spirited thing, and I hate you. All you wanted was 
Clara's money. 

Muddle. I confess. Miss Salome, I did hope Clara 
would do something. 

Salome. I think it would be more creditable if you 
did something yourself. 

Muddle. I'm not quite a fool, Salome. I can earn 
something if I must, but it will be very hard — very 
hard. 



29 

Salome. Can't you give up cigars and your span 
and your club ? 

Muddle. Oh, come now ! You 're hard on a fellow. 

Salome. It's no harder on you than on me. I have 
n't a dollar, but I can work. I can make my own 
dresses and copy your law papers — do anything. 

Muddle (earnestly). Can you make plain cake ? 

Salome. I can make bread, sir. I can go without 
cake and be happy. Beside, I can broil a steak to a 
turn. 

Muddle (Idsses her). What a treasure you are, my 
love. I thought you wanted to board. 

Salome. I hate boarding. Housekeeping is much 
cheaper, beside a boarding-house is horrid for 
children. 

[Enter Cecely at right. 

Cecely. Oh, Salome ; the parlor is just packed. 
Clara says we must go to the library at once and be 
ready to go on. Oh, Mr. Muddle, Fred and I are going 
to housekeeping. Is n't it jolly ? Fred says he is 
twice a man already. 

Salome (takes Muddle's arm). Just what Clifton 
thinks. We don't care a penny for the money. Come, 
it 's time to take the fatal leap, and good-bye to girl- 
hood forever. (Exit all at right.) 

[Enter Clara at dacTc. 

CIjAR A (solus). I am sick with apprehension. K the 
child should prove to be some half-starved, ill-bred 
youngster, I should die with mortification. (Looks at 
ivatch.) 1 hope they will come soon. I can't keep the 
people waiting much longer. 

[Eriter Greenfield in dress suit atleft^ 

Greenfield (offers hand to Clara). Good-evening, 
Miss Sturgis. I trust I am not too late ? 
Clara (eagerly). Oh, Mr. Greenfield; I 'm very 



30 

glad you have come. I have most important news. 
The boy has been found. Mr. Fogge is to bring him 
here. I have delayed the wedding till he arrives. 

Greenfield (quite cool.) And how does the news 
affect you ? 

Clara. Oh ! I do not care. I 'm glad the trust is 
over. (Shows cliecks.) See, there are two checks; 
each for a third of the property. I meant to give them 
to my sisters as a wedding present. Poor girls ; I 'm 
sorry for them. (Gives Mm checks.) You take them. 
Keep them for the boy. I want you to be his guardian. 

Greenfield (tal{es checks). I'd be delighted to take 
care of the little fellow. I 'm quite accustomed to that 
sort of thing. 

Clara. What are you doing now ? It seems so long 
since we met. 

Greenfield (twisting up checlcs). Oh, I'm all right 
now. I Ve just come into a very good property. 

Clara. Why, take care ; you '11 ruin those cheeks, 
and they are valuable. 

Greenfield (kisses checks). Yes, quite precious; 
and I 'm glad of it, for they enable me to say that I 
have long wished you to be my wife. I am no longer 
the waif from the asylum. 

Clara. Oh, Monday! you know I always loved you; 
only this wretched business came between us. 

Greenfield (kisses her). No, it has brought us 
together. 

[_Enter Mr. Muddle at right, fishing in his pock- 
ets in great distress. Looks about on floor. 

Muddle (to others). Have you seen it anywhere ? 

Clara. Seen what ? Have you lost anything ? 

Muddle. Yes ; it 's most awkward. I 've lost the ring. 

Clara. Perhaps we can wait while you run out and 
buy another. 

Muddle. Buy another ! (Aside) 1 have n't a cent 
with me. (Searches all his xjockeis more vigorously.) 
I don't know what I shall do ! 



V. 



31 

Greenfield (pulling off his finger ring and holding 
it in the gas flame). Perhaps I can help you. 

Clara. Oh, Mr. Greenfield, you have spoiled that 
beautiful ring. 

Greenfield. That 's all right. Look lively, Mr. 
Muddle. Bring me a coal from the hod. (Takes off 
the glass of the table lamp, and runs to bracket on wall 
and twists off the fixture by unscrewing it.) Here we 
are, a blow-pipe and a forge. Give me the coal. 
(Takes coal and lays ring in it and uses gas-pipe bracket 
for blow-pipe.) Where there 's a will there 's a way. 
I'll forge a ring for the bride. (Blows through the 
pipe and melts the gold. Suddenly drops the bracket 
and pinches the ring together. To Clara.) Your hand ; 
let me try it on your finger. (Clara offers her hand 
and he slips the ring on her finger.) 

Clara (pulling at ring). Oh, it burns. It wont 
come off. I can't get it off. 

Muddle (suddenly hopping into the air ivith a cry, 
and then sitting and pulling off his shoe and taking out 
ring). I've found it. 

Clara (xmlling at ring). It wont come off at all. 

[Enter Daudle and Salome and Cecelt at 
right. 

Salome (to Clara). Sister, Mr. Fogge has arrived. 
He 's coming upstairs. 

Clara. Oh, then, the boy has come. Dear sisters 
and brothers, before you go let me present you my 
future husband. (Both couples boic rather indifferently.) 

lEnter Fogge at left. 

Clara (surprised). Why, where is the boy? I 
hope he can come. 

Fogge (pretending surprise). I sent him up to you. 
Have n't you seen him ? 

Clara. Sent him here ? 

Fogge (presenting Greenfield). My dear young 
lady, this is the boy. 



I 



32 



Clara. Oh, my cousin (laughs). I was expecting a 
child. 

FoGGE. And find a husband. Oh ! you young folks 
think you are so sly. Think I did n't see it all the 
time. I congratulate you both with all my dusty old 
heart. 

Cecely. Eeally, Clara; we ought to go on. The 
people will wonder what can be the matter. 

Greenfield. Wait a moment ; I have a duty to the 
brides. (Gives each a check). There 's a trifle from 
your cousin to assist you in setting up housekeeping. 

Daudle. I hardly know in what style to thank you, 
sir. 

Greenfield. Oh, never mind style. A man who 
means business makes his own style. 

Muddle (to Greenfield). The legal complications 
of the case make it difficult for me — for me 

FoGGE (interrupting). Is your marriage certificate 
stamped, my son ? 

Muddle. Stamped and sealed with love, sir. 

FoGGE. Well turned, my son. You 're more of a 
man than a lawyer. (To others.) Why, bless me! I 
was invited to a double wedding. Why not make it a 
triple wedding? 

Clara. Oh, no, no ! I could n't think of it. I have 
not the right dress nor — the ring. Yes (kisses her 
hand). I have a ring — but I can't get it off. Perhaps 
it 's a good sign. C To Greenfield.) Edward, what 
will the people say ? 

Greenfield. The folks will say it 's perfectly 
sweet in you. 

Clara (pulls at ring). It wont come off. "Never 
mind. (Takes GreenfieWs arm.) All 's well that 
ends in a ring. 

FoGGE. Fall in for the procession. Strike up the 
music. Wedding march. 

TABLEAr — 

Curtain. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




n 



016 211 434 7 



/ 



